


We Know Best

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Brother Mine [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family time, Gen, Therapy, anger issues, eating issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:59:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With their older brother gone, there was no structure. There was no balance. Their parents didn't know how to punish them. They were unsure of how to proceed. They’d been gone for too long for it to matter. Sherlock was acting out simply because he could. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t protest too much, and he knew that their parents were more talk than action. What was the point in listening if nothing happened if he disobeyed?</p>
<p>~*~ <br/>The Holmes parents try to be involved in their children's lives, but neither wants anything to do with them. They don't know how to proceed, or who knew best how to handle them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Know Best

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part to my Brother Mine series. It might behoove you to read that part first, as it directly leads into this. I refer to Sherlock as "William" in this story, mainly because he hasn't decided to change his name. 
> 
> Sherlock's eating habits can be considered an eating disorder. I don't see it this way, nor does Mycroft. However, if difficulties eating and trauma associated with it can be construed as a trigger - you've been warned. It doesn't take a great presence in this particular story, but it's a warning all the same. 
> 
> I do not have a beta reader, so all mistakes are mine. Feel free to point out any errors and I will correct them. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading. 
> 
> You can find story updates, etc, on my tumblr: http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com

The first in a long line of therapists insisted that William was traumatized. “He has deep seeded issues that he needs to get over. Bring him to me every other day to start with. We’ll see what we can do from there.” At one hundred pounds a pop the man was both expensive and useless. Mycroft thought he was an idiot, William thought he smelled like too much talcum powder and Epsom salt.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mycroft had asked him as he tucked his brother into bed one night.

“I don’t know, but it’s annoying. I don’t like it.”

“Ignore it.”

“You ignore it. You only have to sit with him once a week.” William sulked, rolling over and burrowing his head under his pillow. Mycroft shrugged and flicked off the light.

“Not my fault you’re traumatized.” Mycroft quoted with a laugh. William’s pillow went flying straight at him, and it bounced off his back. He was still laughing about it even as he threw it in a return pass.

Their parents didn’t understand William. Mycroft doubted they ever would. They thought he was broken and would be for the rest of his life. To be fair, they were probably right. But Mycroft also knew that William liked to be difficult. He capitulated if he had a reason to, and he got bored easily. The key point was that if he found you trustworthy: he’d do anything you wanted. He didn't trust his parents, he didn't see a reason to capitulate, and frankly: he wasn't impressed. He continued to do what he always did, and he saw no reason to quit.

He played with Mycroft, he ate food his brother fixed for him, and he asked his brother countless questions. Mycroft didn’t mind, and he was already used to having his brother follow him around. To him, nothing changed. If William wanted to rub it in their parents' faces, it was no skin off his nose.

Every other day, their parents dragged William kicking and screaming from his bedroom and into their car. They explained to him each time that it would make him better. William didn't care, didn't believe them, and didn't feel like listening at all.

The whole experience was pathetic. Especially because they decided that Mycroft needed to speak with someone too.

The room Mycroft sat in was so childish it bordered on the ridiculous. There were paintings of animals on the walls, games on the shelves, and colored chairs at bubble shaped desks. The therapist handed him a cuddly toy and asked him what he thought of it.

“I think it’s juvenile and pathetic. What on earth is a grown man like yourself doing surrounded by all these toys?” The doctor gave him a polite smile, and Mycroft could smell the talcum powder William complained about. He reeked with it.

“They’re not for me. Some children feel comforted by their presence.”

“I don’t, nor am I a child.”

“I can see that. I apologize for suggesting otherwise. Tell me, Mycroft, why are you here?”

“Because my parents think that I’m traumatized and that I need counseling to ease the pains of my past.” He replied. He glanced down at his fingernails and sighed.

“Are you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” He met the therapist’s eyes without flinching. “If you want someone to fix, then fix brother. If anyone needs help it’s him, not me.”

“Which brother are you referring?” Mycroft scowled at the question.

“Both of them. William’s an idiot, and Sherrinford’s a psychopath.”

“That’s a specific diagnosis.”

“He did poison us, murder our family’s dog, try to burn down the house, and plot our deaths. It’s a justified accusation.”

“But why psychopathy and not something else?”

“You’re a doctor, figure it out. I don’t need to quote textbooks at you, you should already have them memorized.” The man smiled at him and asked him if he’d like to play a game. Mycroft glared at the clock and willed it to go faster.

Two weeks later, William still refused to eat anything his parents made for him. They were terrified, and were desperate for the doctor to help. He recommended treatment. “I'd like to introduce him to different foods, and every time he eats some give him positive reinforcement.” Mycroft could already tell this was going to end in failure. He sighed and sat with William the night before treatment was going to begin.

“You’re an idiot.” He told him bluntly.

“Am not.”

“You are too. You’re not eating because you think it’ll get you sick. Well Sherrinford’s gone, there’s no reason to think that. You’re wasting everyone’s time by playing this game.”

“Not a game, and you’re a jerk.”

“Hardly the most inspiring insult, brother-mine.” Mycroft told him, rolling his eyes. William didn’t respond, and he frowned. The younger boy was looking the other way, mouth pressed tight together and hands clenched at his sides. His shoulders were shaking somewhat, and for a moment Mycroft thought he’d somehow made the boy cry. It wasn’t anguish on the boy’s face, though. It was rage. He threw himself off his bed and marched towards the door. Opening it in a flourish, he slammed it behind him as he stomped into the hallway.

Mycroft listened as he heard his brother walk to their parent’s room. There were quiet whispers inside, and then a faint sound of weight being added to the box spring. Mycroft frowned in confusion. He’d never had William just leave before, especially not to go sit with someone else, especially not their parents. It didn’t make any sense.

Reviewing their exchange, Mycroft flinched when he realized what he’d said. Brother-mine. Gritting his teeth he readied himself for bed. He didn’t sleep all night. Instead, he glared at the ceiling as Sherrinford’s voice haunted his consciousness.

The next morning, William was vibrating with anxiety. His shoulders shook as their parents brought him to his appointment. Mycroft sat with them in the waiting room, and watched William disappear into the doctor's office. Trepidation filled his heart, and he thrummed his fingers on the back of his armrest. His parents looked nervous as well, but they were also filled with hope. They were convinced this was the best course of action to take, and they wanted it to work.

It didn’t take long for the shouting to start. Mycroft’s muscles tensed as he heard William scream behind that door. His therapist’s voice never rose at all, but William was prepared for an all out war. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, and when he didn't get what he wanted: he went to leave.

He banged on the door, slapping his palms against it over and over. Mycroft scowled as his parents looked between themselves. They knew that this type of treatment would take time and patience, and they’d been warned not to get involved. While they may have wanted to aid their child, they were wary about what the effects of interfering might be.

Mycroft wasn’t.

Glaring at them both, he moved passed them with ease. Throwing the door open, he caught William just before he made a complete break for it. For a moment he thought the boy would fight against him too, the pain from their talk the night before was still fresh in his mind. He didn’t. William looked up at him, recognized him immediately, and then scrambled up his body like he always did. Arms and legs went everywhere until Mycroft finally caught him and steadied him against his hip.

“We’re leaving.” Mycroft said without any preamble. The treatment was a joke, just like the doctor's degree. He didn't even look at his parents.

“Mikey-” His mother tried.

“We’re leaving now.” Mycroft said her without leaving any room for an argument. He’d walk home if he had to. He would. They didn’t argue with him, though. They just paid the doctor and left.

“We need to try. He can’t keep living like this.” Their mother told them. William was curled up in the back seat of the car. He’d burrowed under a jacket and was hiding from the world, hugging his arms across his body as he sat crooked in his seat. He was crying.

“Live like what, exactly? His food problem’s simple enough to manage.”

“What do you suggest?” Their father asked.

“Teach him how to cook, and let him do it. He’s an idiot, but even trained monkey’s can follow directions.”

“Not an idiot.” William muttered from somewhere under the jacket.

“Says the monkey.” Mycroft replied easily.

“Jerk.”

“And we’ve come full circle.” Deigning not to respond, William just pressed himself against the car door even furthur.

“Oh Mikey, he’s too young. He’s only six-”

“Seven. He’ll be seven in less than a week. I’ll walk him to the market; we’ll get our own food. Give us an allowance and I’ll teach him to cook myself. He can manage a sandwich I’m sure. I’m sure he could even work out how to eat an apple if we tried _really_ hard." Mycroft griped, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "So he doesn’t accept food from strangers, there are worse things your child can suffer from.”

Their parents still looked uncertain with the idea, but they agreed to let them try.

It didn’t take long to work.

* * *

 

William delighted with the prospect of managing his own nutrition, and he was good at it too. He even managed to cut the crusts off in perfect angles. Mycroft resisted the urge to scoff every time their mother cooed at William’s “prowess.” It wasn't exactly rocket science. "When are you leaving again?" He asked her. It'd be nice to have the house back, especially without their interference.

“Leave?” She looked startled by the question. “We’re not going to leave again. We’re going to stay with you. We never should have left you alone to begin with!”

The therapy continued.

Doctor number two was informed about Mycroft’s question in short order. She wanted to know all about how Mycroft was handling the apparent neglect he’d received. He gaped at the woman for ages before crossing his arms and refusing to speak for the rest of their session.

Two weeks later, a new treatment was introduced. “ _Family Time_?” Mycroft asked, repeating the words like they’d burn him just by speaking them. “You must be joking.”

“Of course not. We’re going to spend time together as a family.”

“We already do. You never give us a chance to be alone anymore. You’re there constantly.”

“Well now we’re going to have purpose. Don’t slouch Mikey, it’s rude.”

“Mycroft, my name is Mycroft, can’t you possibly remember it? Or were you on too much demoral when they presented you with my birth-certificate?” Mycroft asked, making a tactical retreat and leaving his mother’s side before he felt compelled to argue with her anymore.

Family Time consisted of board games, card games, and crossword puzzles. While they played, their parents insisted on asking meaningless questions. How was your day? Did you do anything fun today? What's your favorite color? Do you want to do something tomorrow? What are you researching now?

William lost interest in the discussions the moment they started. “You’re here all the time, what more could you possibly want to know?” He asked them. Mycroft had never felt more proud of his brother than that moment, and he beamed at the boy in response. Their parents weren't as amused.

“We’re going to be a family again.” She told them, and they did what she asked without too much complaining. Still, best to make a learning experience out of it all. It took Mycroft less than ten minutes to learn how to count cards and deal to his advantage every time. He taught the trick to his brother over the next three days.  
  
Standard card games against their parents were unimaginably dull. To make it better, they invented a new game to amuse themselves. The trick was memorizing the deck and reasoning which cards the other took out. They shuffled the cards over and over again, passing the deck between their palms and forcing hands to be dealt for hours. It took two weeks to play through every possible permutation of the game. It fell by the wayside not long after.

Chess was fun for a time, but their father was incapable of surviving more than ten moves, their mother was stuck in a rut with her knights and always used the same strategy, and eventually Mycroft could see exactly what William would plan to do before he even moved a piece. William in turn managed to figure the same about him, and they both unanimously declared that chess was a useless game to play against each other. They always knew who was going to win before the game even began, and it was futile to keep trying.

“Games are boring.” William lamented when their mother insisted on another round of Mouse Trap.

“Come play with us, let’s see if you can win this time, hm?” Their mother tried.

“No. I’m going to do research. This is boring, and I’m tired of playing games.” He made to walk from the room, and Mycroft wondered if that was even an acceptable option. He watched the scenario play out with raised eyebrows, in no mood to intervene on anyone’s behalf.

“Will, you get back here this instant!”

“No!”

“Come back here now!”

“Or what?!” William shouted back, rounding on his mother. He pulled himself up to his full height, back straight and posture ready for a fight. Mycroft felt a slight tingle of nervous energy starting to build within him. He wanted to know that too. For months they’d all been dancing around this one issue. What happened if they fought back?

With Sherrinford it was easy to plan and work things out. Avoid him at all costs. Keep the noise level down. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t go in his room – ever. Don’t make a mess. Don’t bother him. Do everything he says when he says it. If you did all that, if you made him happy, you avoided getting into trouble. If you didn’t, then there were always consequences.

With him gone, there was no structure. There was no balance. Their parents didn't know how to punish them. They were unsure of how to proceed. They’d been gone for too long for it to matter. William was acting out simply because he could. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t protest too much, and he knew that their parents were more talk than action. What was the point in listening if nothing happened if he disobeyed?

“You’re my son, and you will listen to me.”

“Well I don’t care if I’m your son. I don’t want to listen to you, and I’m not. I’m going to research.”

“You’re going to play this game, William, and you’re going to play it this instant.”

“I’m never playing that stupid game again. It’s boring, you’re boring, and I’m sick of playing it. I’m not playing it. You can’t make me.”

“I can make you!” Their mother shouted. Mycroft felt his muscles tense, ready to step between them should she even think about moving to touch him.

“What do you want to do instead, Will?” Their father asked, calm voice breaking through the tension with ease.

“I want to go research.” William snapped out, shoulders shaking as his nerves bounced around his bloodstream.

“What are you researching today?” Their father stood up and walked across the room to stand by his son with slow, placating, movements. “Will you show me?”

William didn’t answer right away. He gave his father a considering look, as though he could divine his father’s motivations just by observing him. Mycroft wondered if he could. Their father’s stance wasn’t relaxed, but he wasn’t tense with anger or even annoyance. He almost looked uncertain, as though he was afraid to be rejected. He was nervous, but hopeful. He wanted to be included in his son’s life, but didn’t know how.

“Let him, Will.” Mycroft told his brother softly, and immediately William’s shoulders relaxed.

“Suppose I could.” He mumbled, before leading the way to his bedroom to collect his latest book. Their father trailed after him, biting his lip and rubbing his arm in a nervous habit.

Alone with his mother, Mycroft squared his shoulders. “Mummy, I want to tell you something.” He said the words with enough presence to have her look at him and focus. He was glad of it. He wanted her full attention. This message was going to sink in, he'd be sure of it. “If you so much as lay a finger on Will, I’ll take him out of this house and you’ll never see either of us again.” She looked so startled, he almost regretted telling her his plan. Almost. But she deserved to have fair warning of their departure.

“Where would you go? What money would you have? You wouldn’t survive out there.”

“I’m smarter than either you or father, and I’ve a plan already in place. Will and I would leave and you’d never find us. I’d make sure of it. Don’t you ever touch him.”

“I would never do anything to harm my sons.”

“You already have. That’s what this is, mummy. This is guilt. This family time nonsense is just guilt. You think this is going to make it better, but it’s not. It’s just making things worse. Will and I are just fine by ourselves, and we don’t need you there to muck things up. So leave us both alone, and be done with it. We don’t need you, we don’t want you, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better.” Mycroft left her alone after that.

Therapist two asked him if he trusted his parents.

“No I don't, and you can tell that to my mother if you want. She seems to want to hear it from someone else, since she can’t work it out on her own.” He hissed at her. Therapy was going to be another thing he stopped going to from there on out.

Monkey-see-monkey-do. As soon as Mycroft abstained from attending his appointments, William demanded a ceasefire as well.

Neither parent knew how to make their sons do what they wanted.

Time marched on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sherrinford wrote home often. They tried to hide it. But Mycroft still saw the return address, the hospital's letterhead, and his brother's handwriting. Mycroft knew it was foolish, but he was frightened of those letters. Each letter was an extension of Sherrinford, once more encroaching upon their house.

He refused to tell William about them. Their parents read each one in the privacy of their own room, and Mycroft made sure that there was never any evidence lying about the house. If he found one, he shredded it. William was none the wiser.

Most of the time, he found his brother in the kitchen. The seven year old spent most of his time there. He was determined to reclaim the kitchen as a space that was his and his alone, and Mycroft felt no desire to convince him otherwise.

He always asked William if he could enter the kitchen. He respected his wishes if he couldn't. He never threatened to take that sanctuary away. Usually, William wanted him there. Mycroft sat with his little brother and they researched and worked together. To Mycroft, William was getting better. He laughed louder, he played harder, and he smiled brighter. Mycroft would never break the serenity that William had started to find. He wouldn’t do it. Not if he had a choice not to.

That didn’t mean Mycroft never read the letters. He did. He read each one of them. He flicked through page after page of details regarding Sherrinford’s hospitalization.

Sherrinford’s voice was enthusiastic as he described the treatment he was receiving. The thanked them again and again. He wished them well. He showed his appreciation for their choice to send him away. He commended them on their actions.

“Give Mikey and Willie my love, always.” Sherrinford said at the end of each letter. The words were sickening. They were awful. Mycroft knew they’d work.

He watched for the signs, he memorized his parents' facial expressions. He kept track of their body language. They were nervous, worried, and uncertain. They didn’t know what to do, or if they were doing anything right. They were concerned. Their eyes trailed towards Sherrinford’s bedroom. They went out together sometimes for hours on end – just enough time to visit their oldest son and come back. They were still feeling guilty.

They could say all they want that they were sorry about Sherrinford, that things would change, that they’d always be there. Mycroft knew better. Sherrinford was their son, and they wouldn’t give up on him. Not entirely. Not when he was doing so well in therapy. Not when there was a chance he could come back to them. They knew him longer, after all. Mycroft didn’t have to guess to know they even loved him deeper. It was logical.

“Will, I want you to pack a bag.” Mycroft told his brother one night.

“Why?”

“Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case we need to leave.”

“Why would we need to leave?”

“Will, for once in your life can you listen to me without arguing?” His little brother’s eyes filled with tears and he watched as loose teeth bit down on a scarred lip. Mycroft’s gaze became fixated on that scar. Even as Will turned to pack a bag wordlessly, Mycroft couldn’t help but stare. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

“Course I do. You’re my brother.”

“Yes. Yes I am. Come here.” He did without question. Mycroft knelt before him and place one hand on each bony shoulder. “I want you to think of something. A code word, a phrase, anything at all. I want you to think of it, the more obscure the better. But not too outlandish. It has to be something you wouldn’t hear in daily conversation, but if you had to bring it up it wouldn’t sound out of place. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“This is important Will. If you ever hear me say this phrase, if I ever hear you say it, we’re going to leave.”

“Leave where?”

“Here. We’ll leave here and we’ll find something to do. We’ll get out. We’ll go someplace safe.”

“Why wouldn’t we be safe here?” William asked slowly. Some of the color was leaving his face, and his eyes were widening with fear. His eyes flicked nervously towards the door- towards Sherrinford's room. Mycroft felt his stomach twist, but he refused to back down. He needed to give William fair warning. He had to ensure that he did what he could to make this as easy of a transition as possible.

“Sherry might come back.” William pulled away, shaking his head in dismay. Mycroft pressed on. “There’s no way to know for sure, but he might. He might, and you know what he’s like. You know what he’ll get away with. If he comes back, we’ll have to be ready. Do you understand?” He nodded, small tongue poking out to lick his lips. “What’s your phrase?”

“'Careen.'” William breathed the word out on instinct, and Mycroft nodded.

'“Careen'" it is then. Pack a bag. Hide it. I’ll do the same.”

Neither spoke for the rest of the night. By morning, there were two bags filled with clothes and equipment hiding under their beds. As part of their nightly ritual, they always checked to make sure the bags were still there. They always went over their escape route. Soon, they had a working idea of how they’d survive out of the house.

Mycroft sat with William and they looked at maps. They memorized everything. Roadways, waterways, tree lines, ridgelines, elevation. They memorized everything. Mycroft took to quizzing his brother on random. He always prepared to see what he would say and how he would react, and William surprised him by taking his task seriously. He committed all of England to memory by the end of the month. Scotland and Ireland fell in short order. France was next. Slowly, William was creating a mental map that rivaled that of a skilled traveler.

He never forgot.

* * *

Therapist two lasted only one month more. Their parents continued trying to play with their children, but neither child wanted to play back. William’s tantrums only became worse, and his belligerence grew with each passing day. He still minded Mycroft, but he also enjoyed his newfound freedom to do whatever he wanted without consequence. He ignored their orders, refused to follow commands, and challenged them whenever he could.

  
“It won’t be funny if they ever decided to do anything about it.” Mycroft cautioned him.  
  
“You threatened them not to.” William returned, completely unconcerned with it all.  
  
“That doesn’t mean much.” Mycroft replied, shrugging. “If they wanted to cause problems for us, they could.”  
  
William didn’t listen to him, and one more screaming fit seemed to be as much as their mother could take. She yanked them out of therapy with the Family-Love-Doctor, and gave them to someone else.  
  
No more toys lined the walls of this particular office. Instead, there were mature paintings and filled bookshelves. There were four newspapers on his desk, all turned to the same section. His eyes glanced at his clock every few minutes, and it wasn't to check the end of their appointment. He was waiting for something. What though? A glance towards the radio, the newspapers, ah. Obvious.

Mycroft sat in a chair far too big for him, let alone his little brother, and the doctor peered down his nose at him.  
  
“Tell me about your brother.”  
  
“He’s an idiot with too much time on his hands and likes to climb trees. Tell me about your gambling addiction.” The man hated him on instinct and Mycroft felt much the same way.  
  
Mycroft listened to his parents discuss his diagnosis in hushed voices, and he scoffed at the way they glanced at him in concern. Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Apparently he and William had anger issues that were above and beyond the call of duty. It was almost laughable. Being raised by a psychopath wasn't an excuse to be angry. Odd. Their doctor prescribed a retinue of reinforcement exercises to help them handle their aggression. He also suggested an outlet. Sports, perhaps, was a simple way to expel excess energy.  
  
Interactions with other children might be good too.  
  
Mycroft almost choked at the idea. “School? You want Will and I to go to school.”  
  
“Yes, you’ve been so alone all these years. You’re both very smart, but perhaps we shouldn’t have left you to yourselves. Interaction with your peers would be good for you!” Their mother was far too pleased with the suggestion.  
  
“You must be joking. Can you actually imagine us in school?”  
  
“Oh I think you’d look delightful in uniforms. Don’t you darling?” Their mother asked their father with a brilliant smile.  
  
“That’s not what I meant and you know it! School?”  
  
“Yes, dear. You’ll start next week.”  
  
“Next week?”  
  
“Hard of hearing, Mycroft? She’s not exactly stuttering.” His little brother piped up, leering at him from the corner of his eye.  
  
“Don’t be smart, William, I’m the smart one.” He hissed back. His brother’s face fell somewhat, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. “I’m not going to school, you can’t make me.”  
  
“Yes, we can.”  
  
“How’s that exactly?” Mycroft snapped. He was determined to finish this. Under no circumstances was he going to step foot into one of those buildings. If William got away with arguing over everything, he would be damned if he didn’t have a go at it at least once.  
  
“If the pair of you don’t go to the local school, then you’ll be attending a public school in the city. You won’t be returning home save on holiday.”  
  
“Is that supposed to be a threat? You sending me away from you?"   
  
“Public school for you, Mycroft, means you won’t see William at all. He’ll be staying here. He’s not old enough to attend.” For a moment, Mycroft wasn’t sure he heard her right. He was certain of it. He blinked rapidly, struggling to make sense of the vowels and consonants he thought he’d heard. They had to be wrong.  
  
“You can’t do that!” William reacted first. He threw himself up to stand in front of their mother with clenched fists. His face was beat red and he was shaking with rage. “You can’t send him away! He didn’t do anything wrong! He didn’t!”  
  
“It’s not about doing anything wrong. I’m giving you a choice. You can attend a less prestigious school here in town, and you can stay with your brother or you can go to a better school in the city without him. Those are your options.”  
  
“We’ll leave!” William declared. “We’ll leave, we’ll leave and you’ll never find us again.”  
  
“I’ve had enough of you two saying you’ll just leave every time you’re dissatisfied with the way things are. You are minors, you cannot just walk away. Your allowances are now rescinded, and you will have no access to any funds. If you leave, we will contact the police who will drag you right back here. Then, I will quite happily send the pair of you in completely opposite directions. Your obsession with one another is unhealthy enough as it is.”  
  
“Obsession?” Mycroft hissed. “Obsession!? He’s my brother! You left us behind and I raised him. I’m not obsessed with him, I’m taking care of him. You’re the one who’s a complete and utter cow about it.”  
  
“That is quite enough.”  
  
“It’s not enough, it’s not enough at all. You’re wrong. You’re wrong about everything!”  
  
“You’re a child Mycroft. The only thing I was wrong about was thinking that you could look after your brother, but you can’t. You're fourteen, and you are too young to look after him. That was a mistake I will regret for the rest of my life. I never should have left him in your care. Now, decide right here and now if it’s worth it to fight this. You will go to school in town next week, or I will send you to public school. If you try to leave, I will find you and make sure you never seen each other. Are we clear on this?”  
  
Mycroft could feel his teeth popping as he ground them down. "We're clear." He hissed, before snatching William’s hand and pulling him from the room. His brother followed him with stumbling steps, struggling to keep up with his longer stride. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Throwing open the door, Mycroft shot into the woods. Over trees and rocks and roots, he dragged William and cursed with each step.  
  
“This is all your fault.” Mycroft murmured, squeezing William’s hand. The boy whined wordlessly, but Mycroft wasn’t in the mood to listen. “This is all your fault! Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? Why couldn’t you just play those stupid games! If you just played those games she never would have done this!”  
  
“It’s not my fault. It’s not!”  
  
“Yes it is! You stupid, stupid, boy. We can’t leave now!” Mycroft threw William forwards, and immediately crowded him up against a tree. “She’s expecting us to leave now! She probably has the police on speed dial. You couldn’t just leave it alone! Why couldn’t you just leave it alone!?”  
  
“It’s not my fault!”  
  
“Then whose fault is it!? What do you want me to do, Will? What exactly do you want me to do here?” Fat tears were pressing out of William’s eyes and he shook his head rapidly. Little fists pressed against the sides of his head and he let out a high pitched whine that was his standard siren for an upcoming fit. Mycroft watched him, lips pressed together and body coiled tight. William fell to his knees and started screaming at the top of his lungs, shaking and crying hysterically. “You’re so stupid. Why do I even bother with you?”  
  
Then, for the first time, Mycroft turned and left him there. William was still screaming and rocking on the ground, but Mycroft didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder at him. He just kept walking. He had no intentions on returning until the sun went down and his stomach started to hurt from hunger. He needed to think, and he had all day to do it.  
  
Therapist number three was convinced he had anger issues. Mycroft was convinced he was right.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Mycroft returned home well after his parents had eaten. A brief glance in the kitchen told him all he needed to know as to whether his brother had made himself something. All the dishware was put away, and the counters looked spotless. William wasn’t messy per say, but he couldn’t reach everything the best. He tended to leave at least some evidence if he’d made himself something to eat. So he’d gone without.  
  
Sighing, Mycroft prepared to go to his room, when a folded letter caught his eye. It was haphazardly hidden under a magazine by his father’s preferred chair. He approached it like a cat to a mouse, and his fingers snatched the letter up in an instant. He unfolded it, and ran his eyes over the lined page with ease.  
  
 _Dear Mummy and Daddy,_  
  
 _I hope this letter finds you well. I wish I had come here sooner. The staff here are very understanding to the questions I’ve had in life, and I feel as though I’m finally getting my feet back on the ground. I won’t say that I’m completely better, because that would be a lie. There are times when I cannot help the bad thoughts from coming. However, I know that they’ve reduced. This care has been very helpful._  
  
 _I’m sorry to hear that Mikey and Willie aren’t doing well. I wish there was some advice I can give you. I can only express my deepest apologies for having hurt them. I know you’ll likely never forgive me, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt them. I couldn’t control myself, and I’m working on it now. One day, I hope that we can become a family again. I miss you and the boys. I truly do._  
  
 _Perhaps it would be a good idea to encourage them to interact with someone outside of the house? They’re not used to having their parents there at any given moment. Some space away from you might do them good. I’m not suggesting you let them frolic about unsupervised, but perhaps something more structured? A community activity, a learning enterprise, perhaps even school might suit them good._  
  
 _Homeschooling didn’t work well for me. Perhaps school will work better for them?_  
  
 _I love you all dearly, and I wish you the best. Until next time,_

_Give Mikey and Willie my love, always,_  
 _~Sherrinford Holmes._  
  
Mycroft read the letter over and over, his thoughts skittering about his skull as he absorbed the words. The date placed the message at just over a week ago. From the fold lines, it had clearly been opened and reopened often. There were wrinkles around the edges, and different shaped hands picked it up and set it down more than once. Mycroft’s imprints joined them. He shoved the letter back under the magazines, and carefully walked from the room. He found his mother’s wallet in the hall. His hand reached in and he carefully withdrew all of the money in the billfold. He then took hold of the cards she possessed, and her checkbook. He did the same with his father’s money.

He walked to the one house phone, and reached towards the line. Ripping it out of the phone with a tight yank, he watched the lining shred and the connection fail. He twisted it with ease, ensuring that it wouldn't work or get fixed quickly.   
  
Then, he pocketed his parents’ car keys, and listened to the sounds of the house. Their parents were watching TV in their room, and he could hear them talking to one another. William’s bedroom door was closed, and he wondered when his brother had come back. Carefully entering his room, his eyes immediately sought his brother.  
  
William was at the headboard, hugging a pillow to his chest. His face was still damp from tears, and he still looked like pure misery. Mycroft closed the door with a soft click, and then approached his brother. He leaned in close and whispered one word into his ear. “Careen.” He pulled back and William was off like a shot. He yanked his night clothes off and replaced them with sturdier wear. Mycroft captured a heavier jacket from his closet and pulled it on. Both brothers took hold of their backpacks.  
  
Mycroft pushed their bedroom window open, and he motioned for William to go out first. His brother was the better climber, and he scrambled outside and dropped to the ground below with little effort. Mycroft took his time leaving. He lowered himself to the ground with care filled precision. Once there, he took a deep breath and held his hand out for his brother.  
  
“Come on, it’s a long walk.”  
  
“Where are we going?” William asked him quietly.  
  
“London.” He replied. “We’re going to London.” They left together, and they didn’t once look back.


End file.
